


Wonka Incorporated

by Arkayen



Category: Horror - Fandom, Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory - Fandom, body horror - Fandom
Genre: Body Horror, Horror, Roald Dahl - Freeform, Willy Wonka - Freeform, black magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:21:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22389352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arkayen/pseuds/Arkayen
Summary: What happened to the children and their parents in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory once they were off screen?
Comments: 14
Kudos: 28





	1. Mrs. Gloop

Mrs. Gloop was led away by the tiny man that Mr. Wonka had called an "Oompa Loompa" moments earlier. A million horrible images of her son being boiled, or cooked alive in a fudge room, rushing through her mind. She followed the little man almost unwillingly. Her legs seemed to follow him wherever he led her. As he led her away, she thought she could feel her sanity slipping away. She swore that she heard singing behind them. Maybe just hysterics? Surely that was it. She had to stay rational for Augustus’s sake.  
  
He wasn't leading her back the way they had come in, but instead through an odd maze of hallways. Each of the halls were filled with strange doors with signs that didn't make sense to her. Each one had the name of the adjacent room listed on a sign, with a second line of text under each one. A language she didn't recognize. A strange pictographic kind of language. Almost like hieroglyphics, but with symbols and shapes that depicted nothing but plants and strange beasts. Of course… The language of the Oompa Loompas. She hadn't heard one speak yet. Perhaps none of them spoke English. These beasts and plants must be from their native Loompaland that Mr. Wonka had told them about. 

"Whipping Room." A simple set of swinging double doors. The moos of cows and the crack of whips sounded off from within. 

"Secret Ingredient Bedrooms" A large metal door with a plethora of intricate locks. Was that the sound of children laughing? It was too muffled to tell for sure. 

"Family Plots" An ornate door made of a light brown wood, adorned with a thick white gloss resembling polished marble all along its trim. Not a single sound came from behind this door, but a strange urge to be as far as possible from the door overcame her. If nothing else, due to the reek of gingerbread seeping through it. Mrs. Gloop hated gingerbread. 

"Loompaland Elevator" The doors to the elevator were a tangle of vines and thorns. Extreme heat, and a whistle that could've been screaming hissed from between the doors. The sign for this one had the English wording below the strange other language. It was more ornate of a sign than the others. Gilded with gold around it's trim, and carved with a level of skill you would see on the sign to a historical home, or a high class museum. There was an additional symbol on it. A strange pictograph of a tree, and below it, what appeared to be small children raising their hands to it.

"Gingerbread House Renovation" Another door like the "Family Plots" room. The sounds of construction rang from this door, as if they were building real houses inside. Again, the reek of gingerbread made her recoil away from the door. 

"Rice Shotgun Room" Metal double doors. Surely this must be a joke, but the sounds of gunfire vibrated against the metal of the doors nonetheless. 

"Rice Gatling Gun Rom" More metal double doors, but ten times the gunfire. 

"Rice Artillery Cannon Room" A vault door this time. Quaking explosions coming from this one.

"Janitor's Closet and Confessional" The door for this one was only half the height of a man and was polished and white as ivory. She thought as they rounded the corner, with it out of sight, that she had seen the strange tree pictograph again, carved into the ivory-like door. Her thoughts were torn between the symbol, her fear for her son, and the strange dual use of that particular room. 

What kind of a chocolate factory was this? She had realized as soon as she walked into The Chocolate Room that Mr. Wonka was more than just a candy maker. He was some kind of mad scientist, or maybe even a magician. The room was full of wonders and tasty delights, but there was something… Off about it... 

Who was the room made for? He hadn't let people into his factory since the day he shut it down, and nobody had ever been seen entering or leaving since he reopened. She doubted that he spent his days there. She couldn't see any kind of place for the Oompa Loompas to rest or relax...maybe it was a recreation room for them? They seemed to buzz around the factory like bees; A hive of drones who worked with one unified mind, driven by a singular purpose. 

The river... The chocolate river her son had fallen into. It was oddly thin. Why was the chocolate so thin? She had been to a candy maker's shop before, and she had seen chocolate made growing up in Germany. Chocolate shouldn't be so thin and watery. Her son couldn't resist it, though. He was chugging the chocolate down as fast as he could cup it in his hands. 

She thought that maybe she had seen Mr. Wonka nudge Augustus with his knee in the chaos as the other parents and children ran towards him. Did Mr. Wonka knock him into the chocolate on purpose? No, that was nonsense. He was simply panicking too, and scrambling to get to Augustus before the worst happened. This was just a horrible accident... It had to be. 

How long had this little man been leading her around? She realized it had been quite a long time since he began leading her away, and all this time he hadn't uttered so much as a single word. 

They walked through yet another set of double doors, and her mind snapped back to her immediate surroundings. They had reached a strange glass corridor. Through it, she could see the true scope of the factory. It was gargantuan... Impossibly large inside. The ceiling seemed to be hundreds of stories up, while the bottom was so far below that she couldn't even see it. How could this actually be possible? She didn't recall having ever felt herself going underground during this trip. They hadn't gotten into any elevators or gone down any stairs. How could a facility this massive exist as the factory she had seen from the outside? All around her, flashing lights and strange explosions seemed to be happening. All the while, candy seemed to be coming from the display around her. Like it was raining out of these bursts of light. Is this how he made candy? Maybe he really was a magician, or maybe this was some strange science she didn't understand. 

Of course, that must be it! His candy is known for being special, after all. There must've been some secret way he knew how to make it that nobody else knew how to do. How else could he make ice cream that never melted? How else could he make plants that sprouted candy? 

The Chocolate Room… Who was that room for?

Suddenly, they stopped. This startled Mrs. Gloop, who had been in a haze of thoughts and questions this whole time. Only just now did she notice that they had reached the end of the long glass pathway.

"Base Creation Room". A bright red placard with white lettering. Again, two languages. 

Was this where Augustus had ended up? Hadn’t she heard Mr. Wonka say that the tube led to the Fudge Room? He was traveling through those pipes at a rapid pace. Surely he’d arrived already. Perhaps more of the small orange men had brought him next door to clean up. She clenched her teeth and gulped as the doors slid open on their own, hoping that her son was alright. But in that instant she knew neither sound nor sight save for her own internal shock and horror; her darkest nightmares had been realized.

No. It was far worse than that. What met her eyes was beyond imagination. It was beyond the scope of comprehension for a mother. Her body seized up, paralyzed by the sight. Her heart raced, her eyes widened. She could feel the bile in her stomach begin to churn. It was Augustus. Her one and only boy... Being boiled alive.

In the center of the room stood a massive glass cylinder the height of five men, with the width of six. Augustus was inside, his feet chained to the floor while the water boiled around him. At the top, six of the orange imps stood with skimming nets, catching what rose to the surface, and scooping it into ominous looking golden cauldrons. Deliberately separating the various types of tissue that floated up, each of the little men focused on a specific type. 

His eyes were still there, though they barely resembled their former pretty blue color. They were now a horrible, pink, disgusting memory of what once was. They found their way over to Mrs. Gloop, though what was left of them could show no emotion. It looked as though he had been sedated. There was no pain on his face. There were no signs of a struggle from him. He was chained to the floor simply to keep him from floating to the top. His arms raised above him in the water, swaying back and forth in a horrible dance of death as he boiled.

No sooner than their gazes met had bits of his eyes started to boil away from his skull, rising to the top of the huge glass vat to be skimmed from the surface by the little orange demons standing above. Their view lost forever, her eyes were drawn to his rotund belly, which was now boiling away, excreting fat in horrible yellow globs. The terrible little creatures seemed to jump to full attention when this happened. Eagerly sifting every bit of it they could from the water and dropping it into a thus-far ignored obsidian-colored cauldron that appeared more robust than the others, centered above the rendering tank. Green flames erupted from below as the fat was added. A fire that seemed to burn from nothing. The six of them jumped and smiled at its sudden appearance. The first emotion she had seen any of them show. 

The creature that had led her into the room peered over at another. One who was dressed in a bright red leather suit, a stark contrast to the others. Amongst them he seemed the most alert, observing his peers as if he were their foreman. As he stared at Mrs. Gloop, a look of disdain swept across his face. The small man who had led her here walked over to the leather-clad man, glancing back at Mrs. Gloop with the slightest grin on his face. They spoke briefly to each other in their strange, unintelligible tongue before The One in Red approached her. 

He did so casually. With one swift motion, he drew the knife sheathed behind his waist, and slid it into her gut. If she were but an inch shorter, her diaphragm would've been pierced. Her eyes slowly shifted down. The sudden shock broke her out of her stupor and into a red-sighted panic filled with pain and rage. Her body surged with adrenaline, she bellowed a war cry of a scream and charged forward, knocking over the red clad imp, and a few of the others. Save for The One in Red, who tried to catch his balance, the creatures fell surprisingly easily. 

Operating on instinct alone, she clutched her wound and bolted through an open door, then through another, and another, and another still, her large frame barreling over anyone she came across. Blood trailed behind her as she stumbled through this labyrinth, this horrible factory of death, this trap for her child to be cooked down and used for god-knows-what. She didn't know where she was going. She didn't know who could even help her in this place. There was no one but The Devil and his minions here. She was lost, trapped in Hell.

Nobody to help her, nothing she could do but run. But, the blood… She was losing so much blood. A rush of dizziness overcame her and she stumbled to the ground with a great rolling crash, tumbling into a room a few dozen hallways away from where she began. Unlike the room her son was in, this room was entirely filled with vats. And unlike the vat her son was in, these contained multiple children each.

The hemorrhaging continued, as dysequilibrium crept up on the portly woman. Her gaze drifted upwards, towards the ceiling.. Children were being dropped in one by one. Each of them was carried by one of the horrible little men. They hoisted the children onto their shoulders like fat sacks, each one sedated or paralyzed in some way. Their bodies barely fought back against it, limply waving their arms and legs back and forth. Carried towards the vats, towards their doom.

Their groans and slurred protests echoed through the room, a constant drone that vibrated through her ears, right into her skull, shaking her eyes. These were the wails of Hell. The Oompa Loompas working at the bottom didn't seem to be concerned with it at all. None of them wore even the faintest expression. Not even those who threw the children into the boiling waters. 

They were the little imps of Hell, the servants of Satan, doing their master's bidding. 

Each of the children were fat. Not simply overweight; fat, rotund, obese...like her son Augustus. Their pudgy bodies offered plenty of places for the little demons to grab them, and hurl them over their impossibly strong shoulders. Travelling in a production line, as though they were pigs being led to slaughter. 

"Pigs being slaughtered..." came quietly from her lips, along with a dribble of blood.

It was only then that Mrs. Gloop realized what was happening. They weren't doing this without reason. She had been to slaughter-houses with her father as a girl. The worst thing she could remember was the smell. She had asked, and her father explained that they were rendering the fat from the animals to be used later...

They were rendering the children in these tanks. Their fat, their bones... All to be used later. 

The Chocolate Room… The peculiarly thin chocolate river… It all made sense now...

The One in Red appeared behind her again. This time his blade met one of her kidneys. Her huge frame toppled forward, and she instinctively kicked back like a mule. Her feet landed squarely on the tiny creature's chest, knocking him back ragdoll as he let out the welp of a wounded dog. Her adrenaline surged again, giving her a second wind. Mrs. Gloop summoned all of her strength, pulling herself to her feet. She charged through the room, lashing out at every little monster she could on her way. She could swear she felt their bones shatter with each blow. She hoped she was right. She hoped that her anger had given her the strength to kill these Satanic little beasts. Even had she not been a woman of faith, nothing but the evils of the underworld could create the secrets this factory held. She was certain.

Nearing her limit, she crashed through another door and found herself in a room flooded with bubbles. The jarring change of scenery was enough to catch her off guard, despite everything she had seen so far. All of these horrible things, then suddenly a tranquil room filled with bubbles, so many bubbles, gently floating about, surrounding her. Slamming the door shut behind her, it occurred to her that she had entered through a maintenance door. There was a small red button next to the door. One that she hoped was a lock. She pressed it, and it lit up, accompanied by a loud click. A sigh of relief escaped her, as did her ability to hold steady. Either the adrenaline had diminished or the blood loss had reached the point of no return. The world around her swam up and down, then to the side, finally dropping her to the floor.  
  
She mustered what strength she had left, sitting herself up against the table in the middle of the floor. She examined the room all around her, ending with the large ventilation fan near the ceiling. The trail of blood behind her was thick, and showed an obvious and inevitable fact: She was not getting out of here alive. 

Upon a second look, she noticed the room was full of bottles. Large and small, different colors and different shapes. Soda-pop bottles… Bottles… Like the bottle her son was being boiled in right now. She leaned over and vomited, and reality finally faded out...

**She felt her whole body burning. From head to toe, nothing but the sensation of burning. A scream escaped her and echoed through what sounded like a great cavern. The echo seemed to go on for miles and miles, as if it were taunting her.**

**Burning and burning. Was this what Agustust felt? Was this her punishment for letting Agustust go through this? For running away from her son in her fear?**

**Laughing… There is laughing and singing. Through her screaming, she can hear laughing and singing.**

**She can hear laughing, and singing, and screaming, and she can feel nothing but pain. What is this place? Had she died? Is this Hell? She opens her eyes and sees The Red Imp, who kicks her in the face. Another of the imps kicks her. All around her, kicking and stomping her, laughing and singing as they do. Pain, and burning.**

**She sees rocks, and she sees… Them. The imps and their Imp in Red. Laughing and singing at her. Kicking her and singing. Her screams echoed off of the cavernous walls of the strange cave she was in. With each strike, her body shifts. With each blow, her eyes rock from one thing to another. Over and over again, they strike at her, until finally kicking her flat onto her back. Her eyes find something out of place, even compared to all she has seen so far.**

**A great tree, ancient and gnarled. It's limbs grew high up into the cavernous chamber. On it, not a single leaf was present, but great blue wiggling fruit grew from every branch. Each fruit a different size and age. No growth cycle. It had simply sprouted fruit all over it's massive bulk. The largest of the fruits let out the slightest orange glow from within.**

**The Imp In Red appeared above her. Glaring down, but still singing in their odd language. He stomps on her throat, and pulls out his blade. This time he makes it count… Then reality begins to fade back in...**

If the trail of blood hadn't been enough for them to find her, the sound of her retching echoing through the massive room certainly was. It was only a matter of time before they made their way around the locked door. 

She looked up at the group of imps that stood in front of her. None of them carried a weapon. No red-clad imp in sight. A simple but terrifying group of them stared emotionlessly at her. Their heads tilted downwards, and their arms hang limply at their sides. Each of them slouched slightly. None of them wore anything that could be described as an expression. One walked forward and grabbed her by her chin. She was too weak from the blood loss and vomiting to fight back anymore. Another of the little demons handed him a bottle that had been lying about. He opened it and forced the end down her throat. The liquid made her choke, but she couldn't help but swallow some of it. It tasted like butterscotch. The best butterscotch she had ever tasted in her life. It was almost intoxicating how delicious it was.

He pulled away from her, then stood back as each of their eyes widened into a strange excited glare that pierced her soul. She didn't know what to do. Why did they just make her drink that? She didn't feel poisoned. She felt lighter. It was easier for her to move her limbs now. Were they trying to help her? Is that why they suddenly looked so excited? 

She was lightheaded from the blood loss, but tried to stand. She placed one foot flat to the ground and pushed. It was so easy to lift herself up. Like she was suddenly weightless. She stood up and a rush of dizziness took over. She could swear she was still standing up… Up… Up… She was rising up into the air! 

Her stupor broke once again as she saw that she was ten meters in the air! She struggled to go lower, but it seemed like every move she made forced her higher into the air. Oh god, the fan at the top of the room! She was going to be killed! Mr. Wonka, why would you do this? What are you? Why did you lure the children here?

The crown of her head impacted the fan. Less than a second later her neck was severed. The gas from the mysterious drink which had been building up inside of her released like air from an untied balloon. Her body was propelled around with no destination as the arteries in her neck sprayed blood on the walls and floors of the room. The horrible little imps began to laugh and cheer as they witnessed this, singing a poem to themselves in their strange language. 

Her body continued to fly around the room, until finally jetting directly up, into the fan. Her body immediately torn asunder by the fan blades. The Oompa Loompas continued to laugh and dance as the rain of flesh and blood rained down.

The One in Red entered the room and let out a panicked noise. If Mr. Wonka or that Wilkinson heard about this they would surely cut the cocoa bean ration for the entire factory by half! This was a complete disaster. They had only just barely avoided her running into the rest of the tour. He issued the order for them to divert work from other sections of the factory and to get this room cleaned as quickly as possible. Hopefully before anyone in charge noticed. 

The One in Red received a call, though. Another child was ready to be used. 

Inventing Room… The gum girl must have taken the bait. Wilkinson has been excited for this part of the process. 

The One in Red considered going to assist, but decided to stick to his duties. This mess has to be cleaned up as soon as possible. This Wilkinson can handle it.


	2. Mr. Beauregarde

"I've got a blueberry for a daughter!" Sam Beauregarde lamented as the Oompa Loompas led him out of The Inventing Room. The reeking hodgepodge of scents faded from his nose as he exited the room, only to be replaced by the dizzying odor of gingerbread and cotton candy. This wasn’t enough to slow the torrent of ideas for revenge against Wonka, however.

  
He couldn't believe what he had just witnessed. First, that TV brat blew his front tooth clean out of his mouth with that "exploding candy for your enemies" nonsense, then his own daughter chewed that insane "three course meal" gum, and was presently swelling into a grotesque amalgamation of human and blueberry. Not only that, but those little bastards started to sing about it! He had stood there, helpless, watching his daughter morph into this awful purple ball, while he had to listen to the little freaks sing about it! Singing about how his daughter was a horrible little monster, because she chewed gum! Their boss had created the gum that turned her into this… this… THING in front of him, but they had the audacity to sing about how horrible she was for liking gum?!  
Come to think of it, they’d done the same thing for that August kid… about how he was horrible for being fat. Sure, the kid was portly, but he wasn't going to die of a heart attack any day soon, and again, Wonka himself makes the candies that make these kids fat. They sang for both of them…

  
Wait. They sang for both of them. How could they have had such specific songs ready for both of them? Maybe they just winged it? He’d been to plenty of improv comedy shows. Yeah, that must be it. Still, they sang with such delight at the misery of these children. It was the only time he had heard one make a peep. Those haunting, echoing voices.  
That TV kid’s mother said there was no such place as "Loompa Land". She had to be right! How could a whole country exist without anyone knowing about it? We’ve got satellites, after all! Wonka must have made all that bull up. There's no way these things were just walking around out there in the open. Not a chance.

  
As they followed a blow-line through the factory halls, he jerked his arm away from the midget leading him behind Violet and began to shout at them.  
"You do know I'm going to ruin you for this, right?! I'm going to take Wonka for every penny he’s worth!! I swear on my own grave I'll get even for this! And not just him, either, no sir! I'm gonna make sure all of you little freaks get shipped back to your Loompy-Land or wherever the hell you came fr---".

  
The creature leading him shifted its head to stare at Sam, without breaking the stride of his walk. His eyes met Sam's, and his stare had broken him to silence. It wasn't a normal stare. It wasn't focused on a singular point on his face. Each eye seemed to be fixated on each of Sam's. His eyes twitched back and forth between them, trying to get his own focus on this strange little man's stare, feeling almost as if his mind were being looked into.   
"I...uh...sorry, I didn't mean to offend you..." he said sheepishly. He had never been a man to be talked down to. Let alone silently, by someone a third his height. The Oompa Loompa turned forward with nearly disgusting precision, as though his neck had locked into place. Must not be the case though, as he began to move his head around normally again as they rolled Violet around yet another corner, following the blue line painted on the floor. Sam was in a daze, and felt as though they had gone in a circle a few times, and yet nothing looked familiar.

  
Each of these halls were lined with strong double doors unlike anything he had seen on the tour. They were much more structured, and much less inviting. The architecture of each was peculiar. The hallways had an almost temple-like structure to their ceilings and floors, which were made of strange clear tiles in every color of the rainbow, with intricate designs that had been etched into them. There was something sinister about their appearance. The walls were a strangely textured brown wood he couldn’t identify. The trim of the ceilings were ornately carved strips of the same wood, emblazoned with a strange thick white plaster, not unlike snow hanging off of trees. It was oddly beautiful, juxtaposed against the industrial yet ornate look of the rest of this maze that lead everywhere and nowhere. In each of these strange halls he saw more and more of these creepy little men, running around like worker ants. Pushing carts, carrying sacks, walking back and forth. Never speaking. Never stopping. Only working...

  
He hadn’t noticed how long he’d been gawking until he suddenly realized, to his horror, the gravity of the situation.

"Violet are you okay?" 

"I don't feel very good, dad..." Her voice gave it away before it happened. She began to slowly retch, and soon enough there was a flow of vile thick fluid coming out of her mouth. Vomiting it out almost constantly, with only a tiny moment here and there for her to breathe in. Sam screamed at them to stop rolling her and let her get it all out, but he didn't really know if it was possible for her to. She continued to eject the thick, sticky, purple substance from her mouth, choking on it, and the Oompa Loompas only began to move faster. The smell of it made him gag. It was a strong sweet scent. Almost burning his nose with it's overpowering scent. About ten retches in, he realized that it had the overwhelming scent of blueberries. She was vomiting out juice. He gave up on his screaming. These little freaks weren't going to listen, but they were the only ones who could save his daughter right now.

"She has to be squeezed immediately, before she explodes..." Wonka's words echoed through his mind. "They always become blueberries..." The cold indifference in his voice. "Oh well, I'll get it right in the end..." The absolute lack of concern for what was going on.

  
Would she really explode? Wonka didn't seem to be concerned, so surely that was some kind of sick joke that he was telling. They'd probably be reunited with that August kid and his porky mom after this. Could Germans get in on a lawsuit against Wonka? He would have to look into that as soon as possible. He wasn't going to have gone through this without some kind of compensation. He was a businessman, and he knew the game. Wonka must think he's exempt from the laws because he keeps shut away in this nonsense factory all the time. "Before she explodes..." Has to be a joke. What a sick bastard. He won't get away with this.

  
There was an almost constant stream of juice coming out of Violet's mouth now. Every time her face rolled around towards her father, her eyes were filled with just a moment's worth more of terror. She was crying now as well. Her tears were the same disgusting sticky blue juice that ran from her mouth. Was she really crying, though? Was that from the choking and retching? How could she still be conscious with so little air? Mr. Beauregarde continued to watch in helpless horror at his daughter, following and hoping they got to "The Juicing Room" before… No, it was just a sick joke, damnit!

  
It had taken maybe fifteen minutes to get there. Violet was now ejecting juice from her eyes and mouth, choking and gagging desperately for air. The door to the room was a metal double door that slid open in front of them. Violet and her father were rolled, and led, respectively, into the room by the team of Oompa Loompas.

  
The room was strange enough to pull his attention away from his daughter. They were in a great glass tube, going towards a giant glass sphere that hung out from the wall of a gigantic room around them. The ceiling of the room outside of the tube they stood in rose forty, maybe fifty feet above them, becoming glass at the very top. It sloped downward, and met a lower section of the room that was maybe twice as far beneath them. About 20 feet above them the glass stopped, and he couldn't see outside of the factory, but he could see the sky, and the daylight outside. Looking left and right of them, this room seemed to go on for a mile. "That's impossible" he thought to himself. No way there was a room that was an entire mile long. The distance from the wall behind them to the wall in front of them seemed to be a quarter of a mile itself. He would've noticed such a large section of the factory from the outside.

  
Below them were hundreds of odd machines, with hundreds upon hundreds of conveyor belts leading from one to another. There was no rhyme or reason to the assortment, and there didn't seem to be two of the same machine in the lot. The conveyors ran in strange, chaotic patterns. Patterns that confused the eye, and tricked the mind. He could swear that in a few places, his eyes drifted back and saw a different route. Some routes seemed to be going in circles. Some seemed to be going into the same machine over and over again. On each conveyor belt was every fruit one could possibly imagine, all bunched together in no particular order, or separated in any logical way. The machines themselves were rounded, rotund black machines that resembled potbelly stoves, and were covered in the tendrils of strange plants, each emitting a different color light. They were mounted on cylindrical support beams that pulsed a different color every few seconds. This was another of Wonka's pranks! It had to be. Like earlier, when they had been led to The Chocolate Room. Led through size changing rooms, and rooms that you walked into, and walked out of, coming out somewhere else. This was probably even some kind of trickery like his bizarre tunnel that projected images. A great glass thermometer that shows you a strange image. He wasn't gonna let Wonka fool him this time.

  
The glass tube reeked of every type of fruit he had ever smelled, and dozens, no, hundreds that he hadn't. He thought he could smell something oddly unpleasant, maybe rotten, underneath all of it, though. The smell overwhelmed even the scent of the vile blueberry bile that now flowed from Violet's mouth and eyes… and now her ears. Her ears?! Sam tried to catch her gaze, but her eyes were now twitching upwards, downwards, in every which way. Like they were the only thing she had left to struggle with. She was drowning in this fluid, and there was nothing he could do. They had reached the room though, so Violet would be okay now. He knew Wonka wasn't stupid enough to let a kid die in his factory during such a publicized event. He'd be ruined!

  
They rolled Violet down the glass tube. Her round body fitting the rounded floor below them. It was hard to walk on. It seemed to be almost perfectly round… Impossibly round. Sam reached his hand out and felt the smooth, perfect glass as he passed through this strange hallway. It was mesmerizing to him for some reason. Maybe it was the strange images that Wonka was projecting with his magic trick. Maybe it was how impossibly round that this hallway was. It was enough to distract him from his daughter, and before he knew it they had reached the sphere that the tube connected to. He was seated in the middle of the room, and just then the shock of hitting a chair was enough to snap him out of his trance.

  
There was a man there. The Oompa Loompas ran around him, giving him an oddly wide berth, pressing buttons on machine after machine. Again, reminding Sam of ants in a colony. He looked familiar. A tall man with a gaunt face and a scar on his cheek. He stood there in a business suit and a strange smile on his face.

  
"Hello, Mister Sam Beauregarde. My name is Mister Wilkinson. Your daughter knows me as Arthur Slugworth. I am sure she told you about the arrangement that I offered her. I am sorry for the deception, but Mister Wonka had to be certain about the final child." His voice was flat, monotone, and robotic. He enunciated every syllable of every word perfectly. It was impossible to get an emotional read on him. His eyes seemed so blank, and his smile looked like that of someone who had never smiled before trying to imitate what they had heard about it. He walked over to Sam and reached into his pocket, pulling out a shining silver cigarette case, his expression frozen in place.

  
"I assure you that everything is going to work itself out, Mister Beauregarde. Can I offer you a cigarette while the Oompa Loompas prepare your daughter? You did get her here just in time. I am very relieved that you did." His voice still strangely cold and flat, his eyes still oddly blank, with his bizarre smile that seemed to show more teeth than any smile ever should. Sam instinctively outstretched his hand towards cigarettes and took one. He reached into his sport coat and pulled his favorite lighter out, lit the cigarette and took a long, deep pull off of it. He exhaled and collected himself for a moment, finally deciding to speak to Wonka's weird crony.

  
"You realize that I'm going to break Wonka for this right?" He took another long drag and exhaled. "There's no way he’s going to be able to beat the case, between what he did to my daughter and that German kid. No way in hell." He shook his head, allowing a brief smile, and spoke confidently, although Mr. Wilkinson did make him strangely uncomfortable.

  
"Tell you what buddy, you testify on my side, and I'll cut you in for part of the pot. How does twenty percent sound? Then you can get out of this nutcase's factory and get away from these creepy singing gremlins he has running around." He figured his salesmen tactics might work. Wilkinson seemed like a man of business himself.

  
Mr. Wiklinson's smile stretched even more unnaturally. "I assure you, there will be no need for a lawsuit. Further, I quite enjoy working for Mister Wonka. Also, I find the Oompa Loompas... Their songs in particular to be quite charming." His voice this time taking a strangely fake-sounding pleasant tone but also, a hint of malice in the last part.

He took a frustrated hit off of the cigarette, and exhaled in disbelief. 

"No need for a lawsuit? Did you see what he did to my daughter? He turned her into a damn blueberry! Where is Violet anyway, I-..." His voice trailed off. His head was beginning to feel strange. The scent of the room seemed to be getting stronger to the point of being overwhelming. The colors of Wonka's magic show were getting brighter, more vivid. He tried to speak, but the sound that came out was nothing resembling a word. He tried to stand, but found that he couldn't feel his legs, and soon, he couldn't feel his arms.  
"As I said, there is no need for a lawsuit, Mister Beauregarde." Wilkinson stated as he stepped over to take the cigarette that Sam held in his now unmoving hand. He pulled a small personal ash can out of his pocket, and extinguished it.

  
Sam could still see and hear. The sounds were louder, and the lights and colors were brighter. "The son of a bitch drugged me!" ran through his mind. He struggled in vain to use his now worthless limbs. He looked over and saw his daughter. She was now propped up on her feet. The disgusting juice now coming flowing of her eyes, ears, mouth, and nose. Her eyes were darting around the room. Pain, panic, and horror seemed to project from them. Her hands were fat, inflated, and paralyzed like the rest of her now almost bursting sphere of a body. She was placed on a metal platform, between what looked like two large steel presses that stood a head shorter than she was. Shielding the front of the platform was a rounded glass wall that tapered down into a funnel shape, leading into another strange, glowing machine, like the ones he could see surrounding the strange transparent sphere they were in.

  
"Vvvvvv...vvvv..." he tried in vain to scream her name, but sat there paralyzed, only able to watch. Helpless, despite being unrestrained. His neck hadn't gone limp. He sat there as though he were perfectly fine, yet unable to move, unable to speak. How was she still alive with all that juice coming out of her? How could she breathe?

"Proceed." Said the cold, emotionless voice of Wilkinson.

  
The steel presses began to move slowly towards one another, towards Violet's inflated body. They moved slowly, as if they were intentionally drawing it out for as long as they could. Violet's eyes darted back and forth, faster and faster. She appeared to scream, but only make a horrible gagging noise, ejecting more of the repulsive blueberry juice. Splashing it out onto the glass wall, and down into the drainage funnel. The machine beneath her glowing brighter as it began to fill. Her eyes locked onto her father's. From her perspective. He was just sitting there normally and watching this. He wasn't doing anything but sitting there and watching!

  
The presses met her sides, and began to push her body inwards on itself. A look of excruciating pain washed over her face as they pushed into her deeper and deeper. Her mouth was now gushing out the vile thick blueberry juice. It erupted from her, harder and harder as the two presses squeezed what would've once been her ribs. Her face twisted into horrible positions, but her eyes stayed locked onto her father's. He watched helplessly. He couldn't do anything but watch… But to her, he was choosing to do nothing. Her father was just letting this happen to her. Her eyes looked upwards one final time. The presses slammed into each other suddenly, and her eyes ripped from her skull. Bouncing against the glass wall, and down into the juice collector below. The machine humming loudly and glowing brighter than ever as they fell in. Juice exploded from her every opening, and flowed down into the waiting machine. He did nothing but watch…  
He felt like he was going to faint. The world swimmed in and out of reality. He swam in and out of reality. What happened? Why were they doing this?

"Mister Wonka..."

  
Why did they kill his daughter? Why would someone do something so awful to a child? She was a bratty kid sometimes sure, but she didn't deserve this. 

"..an adult subject..."

Wonka has to know he can't get away with this... 

"...high level of adrenaline may fix the problem..."

This is a nightmare…

"...we shall now proceed as requested."

Sam's eyes drifted over to Wilkinson, who was talking into what looked like a television camera.

  
Wilkinson walked over to the machine below Violet's dead body. He was handed a small cup from one of the Oompa Loompas, and kneeled down at a tap. He pulled on it, and juice came pouring out of it. He filled the cup almost entirely, walked over to Sam and grabbed his mouth. He pulled it open and commanded "Drink.", as he poured the juice down Sam's throat. He did as he was told. He couldn't disobey for some reason. He obliged and chugged down his daughter's juice. It tasted like the most delicious blueberry he had ever tasted. Intoxicating in it's flavor, and unrivaled in it's sweetness. His mind was filled with images of burning in Hell forever for enjoying the flavor. For letting this be how his daughter ended. He drank down every drop of it, and Wilkinson let go of his mouth. He stepped away from him, and handed the cup off to an Oompa Loompa. A different, but equally strange smile appeared on his face. This time it almost looked real. It looked almost like pride.   
Sam sat there, motionless, thinking a million thoughts of hellfire, damnation, and punishment for himself. He didn't even want to pray. He wanted to burn for what had happened. How could he let this happen?

His stomach began to churn, and ache. He couldn't struggle against the pain, but he could let out a burp. With the burp came up blood, and the juice of his daughter. His stomach cramped and twisted, and another, larger burp escaped him, tasting again of blood and her juice. His stomach felt like it was expanding inside him. Wilkinson rolled his eyes.

  
"Failure. Drop containment tube." 

A new glass cylinder dropped around Sam. Was he going to turn into a blueberry like his daughter? His stomach continued to stretch and groan within him. The pain was unlike anything he’d felt before. It was as if a cannonball covered in spikes had replaced his stomach. He let out another burp. The largest yet, and this time, he began to choke. With each gag on the fluids, he belched out more of the bloody juice. He felt it growing larger and larger inside of him. Growing far past what should have been his stomachs breaking point. His belly began to expand outward, the flesh pulling tight against it, and tearing from the tension. He could feel his skin giving under the tension of the expansion. His stomach finally bursting out of his flesh, and landing on the ground in front of him. His paralysed body feeling every sensation of what was going on. He was alive still somehow, but he knew that would change any second now, as his stomach began to stretch so far that the flesh of it was becoming transparent. With one final great inflation, his stomach exploded, and erupted juice and blood inside of the cylinder. No one on the outside could see in anymore. There sat Mr. Sam Beauregarde, dead, expressionless, and still in his chair.  
Mr. Wilkinson stared at the tube for a moment, and considered internally:

"We will get it right in the end."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for chapter 2 taking so long.


	3. Mr. Salt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our story (finally) picks back up with Mr. Salt and Veruca as they fall down the seemingly endless trail of chutes that lead to their destination: the garbage incinerator.

Mr. Salt's impulsive move to chase after his daughter was already causing more suffering that he thought it would. His portly body crashed and banged against the edge of shaft after shaft, falling five to twenty feet at a time. His head smacked against the steel, his bones cracked under the weight and velocity of his frame dropping down this seemingly endless shaft. He gasped in shock as the shaft finally ended and dropped finally into the garbage room and the mountain of trash inside.

  
The landing was not easy. His face met with one of the "bad" golden eggs and his body tumbled down one side of a large pile of sticky trash. Tumbling legs over head- again and again down this mountain of candied garbage. Finally rolling to a stop against a pile of what felt like old plaster but, created a sweet dust that tasted like old frosting. It crumbled against his weight and absorbed the impact. Bringing him to a somewhat soft, yet still painful stop. He took a hard breath in and choked on the dust of the shattered frosting wall. Falling to his side, he coughed hard. His ribs ached against the force of it, he felt a warm trickle down his face. Reaching up to wipe it away, he realized that he must have cracked into a old vat of syrup on the way down as well. His suit was ruined. The blow to his head was hard enough to knock him loopy for a moment. So he just laid there, collecting himself from the fall. He was glad his head didn't hurt, but wished that his ribs felt just as fine. 

Various stinks of the room wafted into his nostrils. He could smell the scent of rotten fruit, spoiled chocolate, off milk, and rotting meat. His entire body was sticky with the filth that surrounded him. His suit was covered in stains that ran an entire rainbow of unpleasant colors. He clutched at his strained ribs, and got to his feet to look around him. The room was large, but not too large. The walls stood a good 15 feet or so. There was a door with some small stairs that led to them. Wonka was right, they had fallen into a furnace, but thankfully it wasn't burning. 

"Daddy! **DADDY, GET OVER HERE NOW!** " Came shrieking from the shrill and demanding voice of his daughter. Piercing into his head and throwing him off balance. 

"Daddy help me, I can't move my legs... **GET OVER HERE YOU USELESS BASTARD!"**

He looked around the piles and piles of garbage, and finally spotted her among it. He slugged through the filth, and made his way to the pile she laid horribly contorted from her hips and down. 

'Her back must've broken on the way down...' ran through his head. He gazed wide eyed back and forth at her, trying to take in the image of his badly broken daughter. He couldn't believe she survived, having been hurt this badly. 

He was a portly and somewhat muscular underneath man, but she was a small framed and thin little girl. The trip down had to have done much more damage to her. Her spine was twisted to five o' clock, and her hips and legs were broken at every joint. The bones of her legs twisted and contorted and unnatural angles. It reminded him of a horrific painting, or a grotesque of a demon. Tears streamed down her face, but her face held the sneer that had been on her face as she demanded everything she had seen through the factory...just like she had always demanded everything. 

" **Daddy! Fix it. Now! Fix my legs!** It hurts so much daddy. **Make it better! Fix my legs now!"**

"I...I can't Veruca! I don't know how to! I'm not a ruddy doctor!" 

"What are you talking about daddy? **I SAID FIX THEM NOW! JUST FIX MY LEGS YOU USELESS OLD MAN!"**

"I-I-I'll try! Okay? I'll try sweetheart, just... Just hold still okay Veruca?" 

"What are you talking about? **I SAID FIX IT NOW! HURRY UP YOU IDIOT!** "

His shaking and panicking arms reached forward and grabbed her left ankle. Her left leg was broken sideways, inward towards her right leg. Her ankle too, was broken sideways and facing the right side of her body. She shrieked in pain as his hand gripped around her foot and ankle. He didn't know where the proper place was to grab. He didn't know how to really reset a bone. He had seen it done before and had even had to have it done before. It seemed like all you did was yank really hard. Yeah, that was it right? You just yank the bone really hard in the direction it's supposed to go. 

"Daddy... **HURRY UP! DO IT!** "

"Yes, sweetheart." 

With all his might, he yanked his daughter's broken leg to the left. The bones and joints snapped and popped horribly as he did. She screamed in absolute agony as he did it. He had overshot it and now her leg bent outwards towards the left a tiny bit. Her bones had broken much worse, her fibula had torn through the skin, and now stuck out of the back of her leg. Blood began to pour out of the wound. In a twitch of panic he twisted her leg again and put it into a position that somewhat looked normal. His shaking hands wiping sweat and grime off his forehead and said shakily to her,

"Is-Is that better Veruca?"

She hadn't stopped screaming yet from it. Her voice didn't echo, but it filled the room. The room was too coated in sticky and bizarre thick things for echoes. It was a horrible, muted shriek that pierced into his head. It was as if his whole world was vibrating under the force of it. Like she was going to break reality. He had heard his daughter shriek so many times since she had been born. Sometimes it seemed like all she did was shriek. Shriek. Shriek. Shriek. Shriek. She was always angry with him, and he was never good enough. Tantrums, and demands, and shrieking. Finally the shrieking had stopped...

"Daddy... **WHY ARE YOU SO USELESS? I TOLD YOU TO FIX IT NOT MAKE IT WORSE! YOU NEVER DO ANYTHING RIGHT! YOU'RE SUCH A WORTHLESS LUMP!** "

  
"I'm sorry Veruca, I'm trying my best here! I don't know how to do this! We've got to get out of here before the furnace turns on sweetie, please?!" 

"Okay... **But you have to carry me the entire way.** " she gasped out. Still recovering from the pain of what he had done, tears still pouring from her eyes and still sneering at him. Always sneering at him.

"I know sweetie, I know." 

He put his hand behind her shoulders, and lifted. Another shriek of pain came out of her. This time right next to his head rattling his ear drum, nearly vibrating his eyeball. He knew that she wouldn't stop shrieking as he carried her. Her back was broken, and her legs were shattered into pieces. He slugged through the sticky muck of the room, and made his way towards the little stairs. They were barely big enough for even his small feet to walk on. He doubted Wonka ever stepped foot in this room. Only those weird little Oompa Loompa people he had all over the factory. He was a bit thankful to be so sticky, as it made it harder for his feet to slip off of these tiny Loompa-sized steps. Veruca was still shrieking in his ear. 

**"DADDY STOP TAKING SO LONG YOU USELESS GIT!"**

He knew he'd have to put Veruca down to open the little Loompa-size door. It wouldn't be hard for him to walk through it with her, but he couldn't operate the crank handle that opened it and sealed it. He knew if he put her down wrong, he'd break her spine even worse. Would that really matter at this point though? Her spine was already completely broken near the bottom. He tried to do the math and measuring in his head, but didn't know a thing about these matters. He decided it was best to lean her against the wall, laying on her side. Maybe that would take pressure off it? Her shrieking continued the whole time. The girl never stopped shrieking at him. It was as if it were her favorite pastime.

"DADDY STOP IT PLEASE **DO SOMETHING RIGHT FOR A CHANGE! GET THE DOOR OPEN AND GET ME OUT OF HERE!** "

"Yes Veruca, yes darling!" He fumbled over to the door and shook the handle loose, getting it turning in no time at all. It creaked and groaned as he did, old crusted melted candy cracking off like rust, but thankfully opened quickly. He fumbled as he picked Veruca back up. Her horrible shrieking still ringing right into his ear. He ran through the doorway and found himself in another one of the ridiculous hallways that Wonka built all over this ridiculous factory. It was lined with those lickable wallpaper strips. These ones looked different than the ones they had seen. Maybe they were prototypes. He saw a durian fruit on one. He had tasted durian before on a vacation and wondered why anyone would want to lick a wallpaper with that taste. He didn't have time for wallpapers though. His head was still sticky from the syrup on it. He wiped it away and found yet another large glob of it on his sleeve after. The stuff was endless it seemed. His eyes darted back and forth, looking for something to carry Veruca on. She was a small child, but she was getting heavy for him, and his injured ribs were aching under her weight. He knew he was just hurting her more by carrying her. He owned a factory. He knew there had to be a supply cart, or a roller of some kind that he could place her on. 

He had three directions to pick from, and each were filled with those stupid wallpapers. So this must logically be a sector of the factory. He decided any way must be a good way as a result and ran forward. His chubby legs causing his body to shift and bounce as he ran. 

"DADDY PLEASE **WILL YOU HURRY UP! I WANT THIS FIXED NOW!** " Kept ringing into the side of his head. She was repeating it over and over. It was doing nothing to help his mental state at the moment. He was doing his best after all. He had always done his best for Veruca. He had always given her what she wanted. He was a self made man. The personal owner of his own peanut factory. He made enough money to buy her mink coats, and ponies, and everything she had ever wanted. He even had enough money to dedicate his factory to shelling those candy bars for her, so that she could get her damned golden ticket that had gotten them into this situation. If it weren't for all of her insisting, they wouldn't be in this mess. He had to fix it though, because she was his daughter, and he loved her. He had to provide everything for her. He had to give her everything he never had. He had to give her everything. He had to. 

"OI! YOU!" He screamed as he saw an Oompa Loompa come out of a doorway to the right of them, carrying a roller cart with boxes labeled "Newt Augen" along with several symbols he didn't recognize. The Oompa Loompa seemed to ignore him as he tried to manage the cart that was quite large for a little person like him to have to work with. Mr. Salt ran over to him, Veruca's joints and bones cracking with each stride, and her shrieking continuing to echo through the halls. He kicked over the boxes, and a strange collection of jars fell out. Each filled with small shining things that must've been some kind of strange ingredient in Wonka's candy. Judging by that strange "Inventing Room", this man put the strangest of things into his candy. That or that half that room was there just as some kind of bizarre prank that he was pulling on each of them. He had pulled their legs on so many things up to this point. For all he knew, the entirety of what they had seen so far had been nothing but bollocks to entertain nobody but Wonka.

The Oompa Loompa jumped back and stared at him as he kicked over the boxes full of jars, and placed Veruca onto the cart. Her shrieking finally started to lighten a bit as she lay on the flat surface of it. The stress finally taken off of her shattered lower body. 

"Look I'm terribly sorry, but I've gotta get my daughter to some kind of exit. Can you please tell me how to get out of here? Please little fella?" 

The Oompa Loompa just stared at him. Its expression was completely unreadable.

  
"Look I bloody well know you can understand me. I've heard you fellas sing your little songs. Each time a kid has had an accident so far, you've had a song rea-..." A horrible realization ran through his mind. 

The Oompa Loompa stared at him still. His expression was unnervingly blank. His eyes almost drooped, and his stature was a little hunched. He didn't look angry... Or even annoyed. He just... Looked. 

"L-look if you're not going to help me then I'm taking my daughter and getting out of here. You're going to hear from my lawyer about a-all of this!" His voice shook with an absolute lack of confidence as the little orange man stared at him. 

A thunderous feeling of shock and confusion struck Mr. Salt though when the Oompa Loompa turned around and began to run down the hallway behind him. He thought he could hear a small giggle. 

"Oi! OI! Where do you think you're going!" He grabbed the back of the cart, which was much more sized for a man of his stature, and began to chase after him. 

"Daddy... **HURRY UP AND CATCH HIM! I STILL WANT AN OOMPA LOOMPA!** "

He couldn't believe his ears! The audacity of this girl to still be demanding he get things for her in this factory when they were in such a dire situation! He had to ignore her demands this time. No... He can't. She wouldn't ever stop screaming if he did. She was already repeating it as they ran through the halls. He was amazed the whole factory hadn't come out to find out what all the damn noise she was making was. Her shrieking could've woken the dead at this point. He was sure of something though. This Oompa Loompa she was demanding WAS running somewhere, and surely it must be an exit of some kind. It would at least get them out of this maze of hallways. He was getting confused though. This room, or warehouse, or whatever it was seemed to have so many hallways, but the doors among them were sometimes too close together to make any sense. Sometimes they were larger or sometimes they were so small even an Oompa Loompa couldn't possibly fit through it. He remembered all the strange doors that led to that room made of candy. It must be more of Wonka's strange interior design ideas. Also why all the candy wallpaper? Maybe the Oompa Loompas used it as a refreshment? As he ran after him, he started to feel odd. The side of his face had felt warm for a while, but now was feeling cold. His mind was drifting away from the task at hand. 

"A little nonsense now and then is valued by the wisest men."

Yeah, Wonka was right about that. A little nonsense every so often wasn't bad. He would surely make this all right somehow. He had been a friendly enough fella this whole trip. The kids had made a mess of this trip, but he took it all in great stride. 

What? No he didn't! Mr. Salt shook his head till he had his wits again. He realized he had stopped and was standing in front of a large black swinging double door. He must've drifted off. That crack to his head earlier must've been a bit worse than he realized. He reached to the side of his face, but it was just covered in odd cotton candy like candy, mixed with old syrup that had gone off. Damn that Wonka, he had seemed like such a nice fellow. He had even whispered a few secret pointers to Mr. Salt as the tour had gone on. Mr. Salt was starting to be under the impression that perhaps he and Wonka could've been friends. Possibly even business partners. Candy had nuts after all and he was in the nut business. Now this had happened. His daughter was broken on a pushing cart and he was half delirious from feeling so lost in this factory. 

  
"Daddy...please just stop **taking so much time. You're really worthless you know that?** "

"Right Veruca, darling..."

He pushed the cart through the double doors and found himself in a room full of elevators. He hoped they worked as easily as a normal world elevator as he pushed Veruca into the first one that saw faced towards him. It was large enough for several of the carts she was on to fit in. A shipping elevator. He looked for the buttons, but was shocked to find that the entire inside of the elevator was made of buttons. Each with a tiny scrawl of text saying what each one led to, along with some other little scribbling he couldn't make out. From the ceiling of the room, to the floor, in alphabetical order. He decided to start at the Es to possibly find an "exit" button, but to no avail. He decided then that he should go somewhere he had been. So he looked up towards the Cs and found "Chocolate Room." Strangely, there were multiple buttons for it. He guessed by a glance that there were about 50 of them. Veruca was looking up at him from her cart. Tears were still running down her face, she was still sneering.

" **Daddy, be careful not to fuck this up and pick the wrong button. I don't want to end up having to rely on you to save me much longer. Wait till mother hears about this.** "

He had been talked down to before by Veruca, but never had he heard such language come from her. How unladylike and how disrespectful! Her mother certainly _would_ hear about this! She would face some kind of punishment for being such a spoiled brat! Paralyzed or not, he was going to make sure she knew never to talk like that again! Just as soon as he picked which room...

"In for a penny, in for a pound I guess." He picked the fourteenth button of the row of Chocolate Rooms, and the elevator zipped away faster than he was ready for. He tripped and fell onto his daughter. This time, she didn't let out a shriek. Instead he heard a complete snap. 

Her legs began to twitch violently. He had completely snapped her spine. No shriek. She just began to gag on her breath, and her eyes bulged from their sockets in the shock that she had just felt. She weakly moved her head downward to look her father in the eyes. 

" **You really are useless you know that?** How could you **be so useless?** **HOW COULD YOU BE SO USELESS! YOU NEVER DO ANYTHING RIGHT** daddy! You're **A FUCKUP AND** you never **DO** anything **RIGHT! YOU MIGHT AS WELL** just **KILL** me **AT THIS POINT!** "

Her last few words echoed through his head. 

No, he would get her a pony... But she wouldn't be able to ride her. He would get her something for this. He would... He would never be able to make up for it. He would never be able to make it up to her. She was broken now, like an old toy. She would need more constant care and attention than she already did. She would never stop her shrieking and demands ever again.

"Daddy...?"

She wouldn't even been able to control her bladder anymore. He remembered his uncle James who had fallen off a roof. His aunt Claire had to change his diapers for the rest of his life...

"Da...ddy..." 

He wouldn't be able to handle it. She was such a nightmare already. He was already constantly at her whim, and she was never satisfied. She would he so much worse now. 

**"Daddy! Daddy! DADDY!"**

The shrieking would never end. It would go on forever... For the rest of his life, he would never be able to do enough to her for what he had done. 

**"Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!"**

His hands wrapped around her throat, and his fingers clenched down. No matter how hard he seemed to squeeze, she just kept on shrieking at him"

**"DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!"**

He clenched harder and harder, but she didn't stop screaming at him.

" **DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!** please **DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!** stop **DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!** hurting **DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!** me **DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!** daddy **DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!** sorry **DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!** why **DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!** I **DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!** love **DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!"**

He couldn't take it any longer. He grabbed her chin, and her forehead, and twisted her neck. CRACK. SNAP. POP, POP, POP, POP, SNAP. Her twisted her head to 11 o'clock and pulled back from her and sat down against the wall of the elevator. He breathed in a deep breath. He let out a long, strong sight of relief. A great, cathartic, release of stress flowed out of him all at once. His mind darted to Wonka. Now he had Wonka for sure. He'd say Veruca died in the vent shafts, and he'd take him for everything. He'd retire to some secluded island somewhere with his wife, and after her grieving for Veruca was over, he would live the good life from now on. Once he got out of this factory, it was easy street for the rest of his life... 

He nabbed a candy out of his pocket. He couldn't remember where he had gotten it. Just that he remembered he had been enjoying them before Veruca went on her bratty little rampage. He popped another into his mouth and waited for the elevator to get to its destination. Seemed like the elevator kept changing it's speed at random. Also he could swear it was moving sideways and not up and down. He stared at Veruca's body and grinned. Easy streets from now on. 

**"You're such a horrible man, you know that daddy?"**

Mr. Salt's body jolted so hard that it lept off the floor. His eyes held wide and fixated on Veruca. 

**"I'm going to tell mommy, daddy! I'm going to tell her what a useless, fat, lumbering fool you are! You can't even kill a person right! You're stupider than a cave man!"**

Her head didn't move from its spot, but he could see her neck and head twitch with nearly every word. 

**"You're such a blundering buffoon! Mommy and I are going to take everything YOU have for being such an inept father!"**

"Veruca...sweetie I-" DING. The door of the elevator swung open. 

In front of him was a room that was almost identical to the Chocolate Room that they had been shown. There was one major difference that sent a strange chill down Mr. Salt's spine. The room was full of children... 

All across the room were children. Each of them were of a darker, mocha skin tone. They were running around, eating all of the delicious candies that seemed to sprout from the ground, and grow from the trees that they had encountered themselves at the beginning of this tour. They looked happy, but they were each dressed in strange dress like outfits. The boys and the girls wore these full bodied large over-sized dresses. Some of them were quite fat he noticed, but many of them were quite skinny... Abnormally skinny even. Like they were starving for some time. He looked back and forth. They were on the opposite side of the chocolate river, near the opening to the tunnel that Wonka had decided to twist all their minds with. He shouted to the children. 

"Do you know if there's a way across!?" 

Several of the children looked up. In their running around, playing, and eating none of them had really noticed him yet. A few of them walked to the edge of the river and looked at him. Many of them looked afraid. 

"Uh...hello there! Do you know if there's a way to get across from here? I'm lost, and I'm trying to find the way out." 

They looked back and forth to each other and spoke. He realized immediately that he had no idea what language it was. They looked back towards him, and he saw their attention drawn to behind him... To Veruca. 

"Uh...she's okay still, but she needs medical help immediately! Do any of you speak English by chance?"

They all turned and ran from him, towards a hill that was in the room. 

"Wa-WAIT!" but it was too late. They had all lept inside through a little door that opened in the side of it. Almost as if there was a dwelling in this Chocolate Room. 

"Bloody hell..."

He looked at the narrow walkway in front of him. Meant for Oompa Loompas. No way across this river. He decided that there was no other option. He had to get back in the elevator and try something else. He walked back in, and the door shut behind him. He was thrown down by shock as it shot back towards the way it had come from. He rested against the door, and wondered where he should pick next. This weird elevator had so many buttons. Maybe some of them were just a joke? Wonka did like his weird eccentricities after all. 

**"I swear you'll never get away with this daddy!** " Veruca's voice continued to screech from her totally useless body. The entire way back, her screeching never stopped. He was too weak to try and finish her off at this point. He was exhausted from the running, the panic, and the effort of having to carry the ungrateful brat the whole time. 

DING!

The door opened and he let out another sight of relief. He stood up and was met with the sight of ten Oompa Loompas, including one dressed in a shiny red outfit surrounding a man with a pale, gaunt face. He looked familiar to Mr. Salt, but he was too delirious to place it at this point. He stepped out of the elevator, and composed himself as best he could. 

"Now you listen here, I want access to a phone, an-"

"Make this one count will you?" the gaunt man said, cutting off Mr. Salt. The red clad Oompa Loompa stepped forward, and with one swift motion, he pulled out a knife from a side pack he was wearing on his belt and stabbed Mr. Salt in the solar plexus. The air left his lungs and was unable to come back in. Falling to the ground he choked for air. 

The Oompa Loompas walked pasted him. Salt tried to reach for their legs, but his hand was kicked away by each. Things were going dark fast and Mr. Salt's life, his reality, began to swim in and out. He could hear strange speaking, and odd mumbling. He could hear the gaunt man. 

"What do you mean she's dead? We need this one!"

The speaking and noises started to get quieter. He could just feel a pressure in his head as his brain desperately craved oxygen. 

"This is a disaster..."

Those children... Those children in Chocolate Room number 14...

"Finish him off would you? That wheezing he's doing is making it hard to think." 

The Chocolate Room... Fattening up...

A knife ran across Mr. Salt's throat. He made one last gasp as he died. Somehow, he still heard her shrieking as he faded out. 


	4. Chapter 4

The last thing Mrs. Teevee heard was "Parting is such sweet sorrow". She had fallen completely into the trance of shock. Her mind swirling, her body limp, her eyes rolling in any direction gravity took them. She thought perhaps she had felt arms catch her, moving her along as if she were floating. Drifting forward, to the side, backwards. A haze of colors and shapes floating before her. Every color of the rainbow, and perhaps a few that hadn't been seen by human eye yet. It was a dream of the horrible tunnel from earlier had taken hold of her mind, and she was once again strapped in for a ride that she could not get off of. 

In the haze, she could see familiar places, and smelled familiar smells. She could hear the piping and puffing of The Inventing Room. The citrus smell of the bubble room with the mystery drinks they were forbidden to try. She saw the golden eggs, carried by Wonka's strange little men from nowhere. There was Mr. Salt being carried away on one of the carts for the boxes. 

"His shirt... Wonka gave him a red shirt..." She thought to herself.   
Her son was the size of a toy...   
No, that was impossible. A torrent of voices became her thoughts. 

"Something like that couldn't happen. 

The magic candy making man was breaking the rules again. 

There are rules, there are laws, and logic, and physics.   
  
They can't be broken.

The candy man can though... The candy man can.  
A smell...  
Odd that the candy man can. Odd that magic is real.  
Odd that Mr. Salt would be passed out like that. Red shirts don't go with brown suits...  
Where's that brat of his?   
This place is so strange. 

There's a stink.

The candy man is magic...  
Slugworth better pay out. Never trust a candy Man.   
Where am I?  
You will not make it out of this place alive. How did I get here?   
Why did I come here? God that stink.   
Wish the noise would stop.   
The candy man makes magic.   
The candy man can.   
The candy man hurts people.   
Because the candy man can.   
  
What is that smell?  
Where is this place... Wonka? A factory yes...  
Mike used to be growing so fast. It's sort of funny. 

My boy is in my purse next to...

THINK!  
That stink! Copper... Is that copper?

The candy man's candy kitchen smells like copper.   
The magical candy man hurts people.   
Because candy man can.   
  
God stop all that screaming!  
THINK!!  
Huh?  
The gobstopper..." 

The torrent of thoughts shifted to why she was there in the first place: The Everlasting Gobstopper.  
Mrs. Teevee and her son were here for one thing, and one thing only. They wanted the money that Arthur Slugworth had offered them in exchange for one Everlasting Gobstopper. One hundred-thousand dollars, just for a little candy that Willy Wonka was making? They would have to be fools to not take this deal! Wonka had made it easy. They both had expected to have to use some subterfuge, but Wonka had literally handed them their ticket to fortune. A fortune much better than a lifetime supply of chocolate.   
  
They weren't rich like that Veruca child's family, they weren't able to afford whatever they wanted to eat, whenever they wanted like the Gloops. They certainly didn't have any championship winners in the family, or a successful car dealerships. They were people of modest means. She was a geography teacher, and her husband was a mechanic. This was their second golden ticket. A ticket to a better life. A better life for the entire family. He had offered one-hundred thousand dollars, and to relocate them to a much nicer, much bigger house that would be paid for by the Slugworth corporation. A completely clean slate on life. 

She should've known it was too good to be true...

Since arriving at the chocolate factory, she had been observant of everything around her. The strange creatures that worked for him. From a country that she knew didn't exist on any map. The boat, that was conveniently equipped for eight people to sit, not ten. The tunnel of nightmares. Her fears projected in gyroscopic and psychedelic patterns all around her. From corpses crawling with bugs, to animals being butchered. The strange poem he told...

So many ridiculous things in this factory. So many impossibilities and improbabilities. She took note of all of it. She was ready to sell Slugworth as much information as she could, for as much money as he could offer for it. If not him, then surely the press would love to hear about this, contract or no. He had endangered all of them at this point. Wonka had been a condescending bastard to her son the entire time they had been there, and she was shocked at how unconcerned with the safety of the entire group had been up to this point. Wonka had not even paid a passing moment's thought towards any of the children or parents who had fallen victim to some sort of horrible disaster on this tour. 

She had already begun to severely regret this plan by the time the girl Violet had somehow been turned into a blueberry. The Gloop boy's fall into the river had been his own stupidity, but Violet had no way of knowing that simply chewing some gum would deform her so terribly. All Wonka had done was say "I wouldn't do that...". A man who lives his live making candy for children must know how much children like to do things you wouldn't. A man who makes candy that can mutate you into a half fruit person would certainly want to warn you as well. He even said that she would explode if they didn't squeeze her! So much had happened already by that point, that she hadn't even considered how unpleasant that really sounded. Could a human even survive such a thing? Humans weren't meant to be half fruit after all. 

Come to think of it... He had dangled bait in front of all of the children. The fat boy had a literal river of chocolate put in front of him. A champion gum chewer had been shown a special gum, made from a machine that seemed to come from a fantasy world. The spoiled rich girl had been shown literal golden eggs, and her son... A gigantic television camera. Wonka... Wonka was doing this on purpose. There was no other explanation for this. Even the strange vehicles they had rode on their bizarre tour had increasingly fewer seats available, and always enough for the ones left... Always meticulously built for exactly the right number of people...

When her overly-enthusiastic son ran onto the "Wonkavision" platform. Making him miniscule as he reformed on the screen. Possibly an inch tall, if that... Those last words she heard before the world began to swim...

"Put him in the taffy stretcher."  
The little man had said something.   
"No I won't hold you responsible."   
Responsible for what, and who would be held responsible for it?  
The wave of thoughts flowing through her came slower and slower, and her eyes began to take in what was before them. The world became more real, until it was finally returned to her. She awoke alone, on a sofa in a normal looking office. On one wall, a bookshelf full of large and old books, and on another, three paintings of gingerbread houses. The smell was sterile. The same sterile smell as any office with a decent janitor. It was absolutely abnormal how normal it all was. Abnormal in this nightmare of a factory. 

It occurred to her that she could be somewhere else entirely now. There was no reason to assume this oddly unnerving office was in the same factory she had been in a moment ago. The air was thick inside it. A strange vibration could be felt dancing around in the room. The feeling of low sounds echoing from the walls around her. A low groaning sound. Coming in a steady pulse from somewhere unseen. 

She got to her feet and staggered a bit. She was still woozy and her legs were rubbery. She looked around the room as she rubbed her head, and took in this strangely normal setting. She felt as though Wonka's factory had been a dream, though didn't know where she would be if this were not it.

"Oh... Oh... No! Oh no, Miiike!?" came sputtering out of her.   
There was only one door in here, so she walked over to it and grasped the knob. It was large, solid, oak, and locked. She beat her fist hard against it.   
  
"Hey! Let me out of here! Where's my son?!" 

  
No answer. The last words escaped her mouth as soon as they had entered her mind. She was very much alone in this room, and had no idea where Mike was. Her purse wasn't there, and there was no note left for her telling her what was going on. She slammed her fist against it again. 

"WONKA, YOU SON OF A BITCH, LET ME OUT OF HERE!" 

No answer. She was stuck in here. Very confused, and very alone. She paced back and forth for a moment thinking about where Mike could be. Wonka had somehow shrank him to the size of a toy, but said he would fix it. 

"He wouldn't want to get sued." She said to reassure herself. 

She shook her head hard and set her mind straight. She had to think. She had to figure out what her situation was. A deep breath in, a long breath out. She looked down at herself. Still in that ridiculous silver outfit they had been forced to wear in the Wonkavision room. A radiation suit of some kind. Mike had better not be sterile from this. She wanted grandchildren someday. 

The room, she had to figure out this room. Something was off. She was only taking in half of it. Maybe she was just split between thoughts? More details seemed to be there now. It threw her balance off a bit.   
Had it been there before? A brass horn on the wall. Clamped off with a valve connected to a lever from the side. Attached to it, a large brass pipe that plunged into the ground, and up into the ceiling. From it came a low groaning pulse. Almost like a slow heartbeat. It filled her with a sense of anxiety, and apprehension. Her natural curiosity would get the better of her though, as she slowly inched towards it, reaching her hand towards it's lever. She took a deep breath in, and pulled down, opening the valve that had been muffling the sound. 

A stream of steam... A smell of darkest Hell. Sickening, dizzying. The low groaning pulse was now a deafening groaning pulse.   
Drrr... Goaaaaa... Drrr... Goaaa...  
The horn was amplifying the sound, so that the walls shook, and a book or two fell from the bookshelf. The smell belching forth from it was unbearable. Like rotting meat, and a dirty bathroom. The steam pushed forth from the valve like a fog. It was paralyzing. Her body was tense to the point of pain. For every second that she stood there in the shock of the sound and the scent, the room filled with more and more of the disgusting foggy steam. It appeared green, like one would imagine a pure toxic fume, or the stench of a pile of garbage manifested. She vomited, breaking from her shocked state and shoving the lever back into it's upwards position. 

She continued to retch for a moment, and staggered over to the desk, slipping and falling safely into Wonka's chair. She sputtered and coughed, before taking a few deep breaths. The air had been cleared. The smell was gone. It had vanished the moment she had pushed the lever to it's original position. She wiped her eyes and noticed that the lingering fog had vanished as well. Was this another one of Wonka's sick jokes? Her eyes darted back to... Nothing. The horn wasn't there. 

Her eyes twitched. The information they were receiving was incorrect. Her mind wasn't able to process it at first. What had been there, was now gone. A prank again? It could have drawn away into some hidden compartment she thought. Perhaps as she was retching, she hadn't heard it's sound of drawing away. That had to be it. You can't make things just disappear like that. She slumped back into the desk's swivel chair, took a deep breath, and slowly spun it around. Finding the movement soothing to her mind. 

The bookshelf was ordained with beautiful white ivory candlesticks, that were embroidered with rubies in a candy cane pattern down into a U-bend that connected them to the side trims of the main structure of the shelf. The books themselves ranged from ancient looking, to merely very very old. Cook books, scientific books, a whole three shelves for some reason dedicated to fly fishing, and several shelves of books too old to read the title, or written in a language she didn't know. Wonka must've been quite an educated man for all of this. Several of the languages were absolutely unrecognizable to her. They almost could've been some alien language. At this point, finding out Wonka was some kind of an alien wouldn't be too much of a stretch for the crazy candy man. This day had raised her bar quite high for "odd". 

  
There was an arm chair on the side of the room opposite to the door. It was very nice, leather, and somewhat regal looking, but something about it's presence put her on edge. It felt as if someone were sitting in it, and leering at her, but nothing sat in it. It was the same feeling she would get as a child as her grandmother would glare at her when she was angry. 

Instead, she took her attention to the wall to her left, with a grand looking cuckoo clock, and the paintings she had barely noticed earlier. There was a painting of Wonka, a painting of a beautiful redheaded woman, and a painting of a very old, very ugly woman. The old woman's face was cracked in several places, as if suffering from some disease. Her teeth mossy green, mostly missing, and her eyes yellowed and milky with cataracts. Were she entirely mossy green, she would've been a dead ringer for a Halloween costume witch, sans the hat. Instead her head was adorned with a mop of silver hair. It didn't take much to figure out what was making her uncomfortable about the paintings. She backed away from them as well. Even the rather well done painting of Wonka and the young woman made her uncomfortable. Much like the chair, she felt as if they were looking at her. The old woman's portrait was especially bad though... Nothing to be had on this side of the small room. Her butt knocked into something as she backed away from them.   
She hadn't really paid attention while recovering from the strange steam valve prank, but Wonka's desk was quite impressive. It was extravagant and enormous. It appeared to be near ancient as the oldest books itself. The craftsmanship looked to be that of the quality you'd see in a palace or mansion. There was a book sitting on the table that seemed to be yet older than even the desk. It's bindings and cover were some kind of light leather, and looked to be brand new, yet the pages were yellowed and crooked like the pages of an ancient manuscript you would see on display in a museum. It looked like it had pages added to it over the years, barely holding itself closed anymore from being overstuffed. An expanded book. Something that had been written over a very long period of time. Surely this would be some juicy information on Wonka that she could sell. Maybe she should steal some pages from it... 

She opened it to it's middle, and found that the page was written in German. She wished that Mrs. Gloop or her son had been here. She didn't speak a word of German. There were occasionally notes on the side written in English though. Most of them seemed to be related to animals, spices and how many children will be served, so she guessed this was some old cookbook for children's meals. It didn't seem all that unusual that Wonka would study this kind of cuisine considering his profession. She continued to thumb through the pages. Every so often she would find a page that seemed out of place. Either it would look newer, or much older, or sometimes would even be written in a strange spiraling language that was present on the spines of some of the older looking books on the shelf behind her. She sat down and continued to scan through it, looking for, tearing out, and pocketing whatever looked valuable, but not easily noticed until she was out of there. It wasn't until the very final page of the book that she found something that other than the the title, was written entirely in English. It seemed to have been written down very fast, as if to scrawl it down before forgotten: 

  
Wir nehmen nur die Hälfte  
For five children  
7 parts greed 3 parts perception

1 part sour

5 parts blue   
16 blades of mint green grass.   
1 part nose hairs  
8 parts gingerbread cake   
1 part purity.   
The pure is the secret!  
It's finally finished!

She was a cook, and hid some of her secret recipes in code herself, but this was just odd. Nose hairs? Just "blue"? What was finally finished? It didn't take her long to recognize the handwriting. It was the same handwriting as the Golden Ticket. Wonka had written this down at the back of this creepy old cookbook. It might as well have been written in German also for all the sense it made to her. She closed the book and looked around the room. Listening to the minutes tick by on a cuckoo clock that sometimes seemed like it was ticking slower or faster. She thought it was a bit strange that he'd have a malfunctioning clock in such a fine office. It was interesting enough in this empty room to go up to and examine. Hopefully it wouldn't belch factory fumes in her face... It was an very lovingly made cuckoo clock. Upon looking at it closely, she realized that it was probably as old as the desk at least. It was eight minutes to six, and the clock did indeed speed up and slow down. The strange thing was that she kept track with her watch, and the clock would always correct it's speed. It always ticked right onto the minute at the same time as her watch. 

"Wait why is it-" She didn't get to finish her thought. 

DING! CUCKOO! CUCKOO!

Her eyes darted up from her watch back to the clock. The cuckoo was popping out and letting out it's hourly chime. A finely carved, beautifully realistic looking black cuckoo. It let out a wonderfully emulated cuckoo call, and an equally pretty sounding music box music began to play. Two little doors opened up, and two small children dolls, a boy and a girl started to draw towards each other on a track than ran around the front of the clock. She had seen clocks like this before, but the detail to the carved dolls was truly amazing. Every inch of movement or so, the child dolls would kick outward, doing an odd and unnatural little dance towards each other. Each time they kicked, they threw a little brown object outward. Between each kick, a small hatch in the clock would open and a carved bird would pop out and peck them up. They finally met in the center, and the music came to a dead stop, not even reverberating, just stopping suddenly and harshly. There was a long uncomfortable silence.

Another doll that looked like a witch popped out of the center. It held there, and nothing happened. Mrs. Teevee had a chance to take in the even deeper level of care that had been taken to carve this witch doll. It could've been alive. It's eyes were entrancing, and drew her gaze in closer. There was no question about it, it was a carving of the same woman in the portrait on the far end of the same wall. She thought she could hear a tiny whisper coming from it. Something just barely audible. "Essen"? Her eyes had just started to shift over towards the portrait to compare when a high shriek echoed forth from the witch puppet. It's arms lurched forward and grabbed the boy and girl from their tracks, snapping back into the clock along with the cuckoo. She jumped back away from it. 

"What the hell!?"

  
The clock had fallen silent again. The sound it had made was not possible for such an old clock. Even if it were a modern clock, it didn't sound like speakers were being used. It sounded as though she had just had a person shriek in her ear. Like the little dolls were real people. Her mind flashed to her son. Her tiny toy sized son. She shook her head hard and threw that thought away. He would get sued or arrested. This clock was just in really bad taste. 

She sat down at his desk again. Deciding that if she was going to be locked in here, she had every right to rifle through his desk. Maybe she'd get lucky and find a key. Instead she kept finding nothing, drawer after drawer of notes to himself, candy wrappers, and odds and ends that did nothing for her. The pages would surely be worth something, but she wanted all she could get. In what might've been the fifteenth drawer of this gargantuan desk, she was met with an overwhelming smell of gingerbread. A massive block of it was in this drawer, somehow it's scent being hidden completely by the desk. She enjoyed the smell and drew in a big whiff of it. It relaxed her a bit. Much better than green factory fumes. A strange detail caught her eye: It had writing on it. She pulled it out of the drawer, and felt that it was hard as stone. She wrapped her knuckles against it a few times to confirm it. Pressed gingerbread, made into a tablet. On the tablet, was a letter of all things, addressed to "William".  
  
"Dearest William.   
Another summer passes, and another autumn comes. Our family has a wonderfully bountiful harvest ready for when the time arrives. You really should come see us sometime. I dare say that our enclosures and nurseries rival even yours now, Silly Willy! We do truly miss you, cousin. I truly miss you. It has been far too long since you last visited us. I still crave the delectables that you had brought me. Truly, you are the master of our craft.  
How are your Oompa Loompas doing? I suppose there is only one way they can be doing, but how are they doing for you I mean? It was both wise and brave of you to go to their land and bring them back. Their usage here has been astounding, but sometimes I feel like they're watching me. Also I can't seem to get them to stop worshipping my trees. They get the strangest look of offense on their face when I pick an apple. I suppose I understand it in a way, knowing what we know now, but it's still hard to adjust to their existence here.   
Dearest William, you must please tell me more about their land some day, and then take me to it. I wish to know what it is like to go down there, and be amongst it. I wish to know how to communicate with them. Really communicate, beyond just giving orders. I think I wish to even partake as you have. I wish to know it as you do cousin. I wish to know everything. I am ready for it's consequences. I of course leave such important choices on the authority of you dearest William. Never forget that I saved you from that pond as a child though Silly Willy. I do believe you owe me one for that  
I jest of course, I do write to you to deliver an official statement from our family, which is as follows:  
We wish to express our sincerest admiration for your dedication to the preservation of the family traditions, and to the soaring heights that you have taken them. Your aunts and I want you to know that your mother loved you very, very much, and that she radiated with pride the day we realized your aptitude for the family's gift. The first male with the gift in decades. You are a treasure to our bloodline, and to our heritage. Your ancestral grandmother would look on you with pride, and your astounding achievements would have chilled the hellfire that consumed her. We shall have satisfaction for our ancestor, and we commend you for it. They shall only pay half of their children. Our pain will now be their pain. Those who have made a mockery of us, and reduced us to mere myth and folklore. Those who cursed us, and those who burned us. The little heroes who fell into her spider's web of peppermint and sweet frost will now have caused the same pain to half the world. May the children's souls be consumed forever."

Emilia Wonka 

P.S. "We would like to know if you would like to join us for a celebration pyre in your honor for finally discovering the recipe that we have sought for so long. I have quite a few wonderful items of our own, and I'm sure we could have a lot of fun. Give the Wilkinsons my love."

Ta-Ta Silly Willy 

E.  
Emilia Wonka... Was she the young redheaded woman from the portrait? Her eyes drifted up to the wall.  
  
"Wait, where'd-" her thought never finished.   
  
The door opened without warning with a hard SLAM into the wall, knocking down a massive painting of a gingerbread house in a forest. Standing in the doorway, was none other than Mr. Slugworth. The man who had offered them one hundred-thousand dollars for a piece of candy. Here, in Wonka's factory. He froze, met her gaze, and backed out of the door, slamming it shut and locking it again. She jumped up, kicked at and slammed her body against the cold metal door. 

"LET! ME! OUT OF HERE! WHERE IS MIKE!?"

She beat her body against the door until she felt like her shoulder would break. There was no give to it, but her anger wouldn't let her give up. She was sick of this nonsense. She wanted to go home, have a bath. She wanted her money. She wanted a coffee, and a cigarette. She wanted to get out of this ridiculous radiation suit. More than anything, she wanted out of this goddamned room and to be reunited with her son! She grabbed the felled painting, summoned all her strength to lift the heavy frame and smacked it's edge against the doorknob. Over and over, trying to break or bend it in some way. Nothing though. She couldn't break this down. She really was stuck.   
  
She stopped to breathe, and heard Slugworth talking to someone... Or possibly talking to himself? His odd, flat and monotone voice made it difficult to tell. 

"You left her in the office for what reason exactly? I thought we could possibly use her later to test the effects of compound B-1 on a non-parent. There is no need to perform that test though. But we should test it. Listen to me. No... Listen to me. She was given to me and I will use what I have for whatever test I wish. This is foolishness, Mister Wonka will be back any moment now. Yes, I realize that you imbecile, but that doesn't mean you are going to take my test subject away. I am the operational leader of today's operations, and I decide how things will go while Mister Wonka does his work. You might as well call it the redundant leader of redundancy, and pointless tests. I will take or give any test subject I wish today. You are only saying that today. It is pointless to have this argument. It is not yet your turn on our cycle. You will have your day to give the orders. On that day, I will give you all of the orders you condescending prick. Now there is no reason to be rude today. It's merely one test that we can do later if it is so desperately needed of you. It is not needed of me, I merely am curious. You are correct. Yes. Correct. Yes. Indeed-"

The rambling got even faster as it went. Never did a voce overlap another. Was he talking on some kind of portable phone? He certainly changes his mind a lot. In frustration, she threw the painting at the bookshelf with all her might. It hit one of the golden candlesticks jutting outward, and breaking it off. It fell, and the shelf slid open. There was a hidden room.

"Of course Wonka has a secret room... Why wouldn't he at this point?" she thought to herself. There really was no reason to question things anymore. She walked over to it and glanced in. Inside was a room twice the size of the office. It was lined with shelves, each holding row after row of bottles that contained fluids that came in every color of the rainbow. A breath through her nose, and the scent of everything that is good came to her. It drew her in like a shark to blood. She walked unconsciously forward, feeling almost as if her feet were floating just above the floor, and the shelf closed behind her. She didn't care. She only wanted to know what that heavenly scent was. There was a small wooden chair in front of her, and a long table, and a long procession of laboratory equipment. Glass bottles, jars, boilers, mortars, pestles, beakers, a full set. The true inventing room. 

There was a banging behind her. It didn't matter to her, but these bottles did. They were alluring. Almost seeming to sing to her. The color was rich, perfect, maybe even a little luminescent. She couldn't resist them. She had to try them. This pure candy essence. It smelled too wonderful. A scan over a shelf, and a bottle of the color blue.   
"5 parts blue" came to the very edge of her thoughts, and drifted away again. It didn't matter. All that mattered was getting a taste of this. She popped the stopper on top, and took in the scent. The smell was like the manifestation of temptation, and desire. It drew into her nostrils, and into her lungs, overwhelming her with a sense of self destructive impulse.   
  
A quick swig. Her mind cracked like glass. A horrible spasm overtook her. Starting at her fingers and toes, spreading up her arms and legs, meeting at her heart, and a great pain came with it. It drifted up into her head, and she slumped into the floor crying. She felt the desire to go on leave her. Becoming an alien concept. Incomprehensible in this new form she inhabited. She was no longer herself. She was nothing. Less than garbage. It wasn't worth it. It was all just going to end badly. Nothing was going to get her and Mike out of this. She wasn't going to get her money, because Slugworth obviously works for Wonka. He's not even the real Arthur Slugworth! Wonka was just playing with them all this time! She slammed the bottle down on the floor, and let out a pained wail. A gas began to rise from the puddle and broken glass between her legs. It smelled like the room her grandmother had died in. A smell she would never forget. A smell she remembered as her last conversation was an argument with her. She stood up to get away from it, and her attention was captured by a bottle of the purest color green. 

  
"99.74% purity ("1 part purity...| )." She uncorked it. It reeked like rotten eggs... Like a horrible poison that would rend her organs asunder. She wanted death though. The overwhelming darkness that consumed her mind more and more with every moment that the strange blue liquid flowed in her body was maddening. She wasted no thought to how much it would hurt to go this way, she merely drank the entire bottle down in one gulp. The world flashed brighter and more beautiful than she had ever seen it before in her life. It all made sense now. It was all some kind of weird little test. A game! He played a game with them! Silly Willy! There was nothing left to worry about now. She had this whole thing figured out. Maybe she would get Wonka with the old "What's that on your shirt?" prank as revenge.

It would be okay. Elaborate prank, it has to be. Wonka is the most wealthy candy manufacturer in the world. He has a family that loves him, who send him quirky notes written on gingerbread. He's an eccentric man who makes candy... She could hear it in her mind and in her heart, the voices of all the people in her life that she loved...  
He's... The... Candy man...

He takes the sunrise, and covers it with dreams.   
He's the candy man, and the candy man can! He'll only do half though.  
The candy man doesn't hurt anyone that doesn't deserve it.  
The candy man and the candy woman.   
Envious Emilia, maybe as good as Silly Willy.   
Half.   
The candy man understands that the world tastes good!   
Just half.   
The candy man wants half.  
It's fair to ask for just half. We all owe him half now.  
Does Envious Emilia want the other half? Will she make the other half glow in the sunshine too?  
Silly Willy and Envious Emilia are going to give the kids their lifetime supply of chocolate today.   
No worries. The candy man can have half. He only wants half.  
Poor, poor candy man.   
Poor grandma. Poor Emilia.   
The candy man can fix this. The candy man can! The candy man has the candy plan! Two little kids.   
The candy grandma.   
Two little heroes. They would've tasted so good too.  
They came into her home!   
Grandma was just hungry after all.   
It all really makes sense, they only want half in return.   
The candy man deserves it...   
The candy man is gonna take it either way, cause the candy man can.   
Mixing it with love. Making the world taste good!  
Even though the candy man can.   
The candy man mixes it with love.   
The candy man is a tricky little man.   
The candy man makes magic candy!   
The candy man can.   
The candy man even has a neat shifty room. He got it because he can. He can. She would if she could too. She was mad at herself for letting her emotions get the best of her. Such wild conspiracy and mistrust of him. For what? She was the one who went to the poor man's factory, that he was nice enough to open up for her and all her new friends, just to steal from the poor man. No no, she had to go and apologize to this. Mr. Slugworth will know where to find poor Willy Wonka. His sweet seeming cousin called him "Silly Willy". That was cute. She was probably the pretty young redhead in the painting. Right next to the old woman who had suffered so much in life. She came to her senses and found a switch, sliding the door to the laboratory open.

There was a bang and a flash, she fell forward and crashed to the floor. Someone must've been lighting fireworks inside! Naughty boys! The scent of gingerbread filled her nose. The tablet was on the floor in front of her. A foot met with her head. Mr. Slugworth must've tripped when that firework went off, like she had. She felt embarrassed that it scared her so much that she peed herself. Also made her stomach feel bad. Such a shock had made her dizzy. So dizzy her stomach hurt. It made her stomach hurt badly. It must've been a bad knock to he head she thought. Her vision was even blurry. She hoped Mr. Slugworth was okay. He might've fallen quite badly with how hard he had tripped on her head.

"Did I spill my drink on my shirt?" She thought. "No, my drink was green. My... I don't think I should get up... That firecracker really knocked me loopy. Hope Slugworth didn't trip too hard." Her eyes glanced up at the bookshelf. It was only half there. The other half had gone somewhere else. Same for his cuckoo clock. The desk was gone. Her thoughts were getting less important to her. Everything would be fine after all. Nothing left to worry about. 

"Desk gone... Had another place to be..." She thought to herself somewhat confidently. "These men will help me up." 

Things were quite blurry now, but she could see 5 nice normal legs coming towards her, and a few nice not so normal Oompa Loompas. She thought she saw three legs with red pants. Three legs was silly though. Unless he was a special Oompa Loompa. She would have to meet this special Oompa Loompa. He must be quite popular being the one with three legs.

"Get her out of here right now. I AM NOT LETTING THIS GO! WE WILL DISCUSS THIS LATER! NOW! PICK HER UP AND- SIR!" They had started to pick her up, but dropped her again on the floor. Silly butterfingered people. Her stomach lurched with pain and she felt her shirt and skirt getting wetter inside the radiation suit. She hoped she wouldn't get sick on poor Willy's floor. It was okay though. Wonka probably would probably give her a pretty nice new dress. Things were oddly blurry since that firecracker went off. Maybe it was an m80 like her big brother played with when they were children. He had laughed at her when it dazed her the first fourth of July he had bought them. There was a sound like a machine door opening up. Two legs, clad in purple, wearing fine shoes came strolling out, while 3 red legs walked in. Time seemed to slow down. How odd, it was so much warmer in the office a moment ago. Bad heating system must need worked on. Poor Mr. Wonka. Another set of legs. These are facing the other way, and goodness they're walking backwards with their heels! They don't even need to lift them off the ground! What an amazing feat of dexterity! One more set of legs... These legs are smaller. There are even smaller red legs behind them. Really close, and boy are the little but larger legs dancing around! Oh it must be Mike, or Augustus, or that one poor boy! He's dancing because of his prize! Strange that the red one would just stand behind him as he danced. Maybe Red Leg's legs hurt. The lighting in the room could really use some work too. It was certainly brighter in here a moment ago. Poor Willy Wonka. She would have to give him the number for her electrician... No that was silly, they didn't even live in the same state. 

"He should stop stomping the floor like that... He's going to ruin... The carpet..." She said with a little spittle coming out. How embarrassing! Her drink was green though. She wished she could remember what the red one tasted like. She didn't remember it at all! 

Mike's name echoed out of a strange and loud noise in the room. Someone open the valve again? It seemed so far away though. She wondered why nobody had picked her up yet, but she didn't care much anymore. She didn't feel like getting up anymore anyway. She though she might listen to the conversation for a bit but then again she couldn't hear anything much at all. For some reason. The light was so bad right now. The two purple clad legs started to stroll towards her. Hooray! Hurrah! It's Willy Wonka! He's going to fix everything now, because he can. She closed her eyes and let out a great sigh. The candy man would fix everything now. 

The candy man can. 


End file.
